‘Oh, you know, always want to keep up with things,’ said Bertram vaguely, brushing his sleeve against a custard tart. ‘What about you, old fellow?’
‘Since inheriting the mills...’
‘What!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘Lucinda’s father is dead?’
Sir Richard finally briefly acknowledged her. ‘Yes, it was announced in the appropriate papers.’
‘But how did he die?’ pressed Mary. ‘He was not a young man, but his health was sound.’
‘Terrible accident,’ said Richard. ‘I must ask you not to discuss it with Lucinda should you see her. She finds the details most distressing.’ Then he turned back to Bertram. He lowered his voice slightly, but not so much we could not hear him. ‘Rather bad timing of the old chap. I’ve had to look into the whole mill industry. Not my thing. Anyway, there’s some bigwigs here going on about what the future is for textiles, so I thought I’d better nip over and find out about it. You don’t know anything about mills, do you, Bertie? Wouldn’t mind handing the whole kit and caboodle over to you to manage. Heard you were a bit down on your luck. I’d pay well, of course, especially, you being family. I need someone to drag the whole sorry mess up to date.’
‘But you promised Lucinda’s father you would not change his business,’ said Mary.
‘Your conscience might be able to sit with six-year-old children, and younger, running between the looms and risking terrible injury, but I am not.’
‘I should say not,’ said Bertram. ‘He employed children younger than six?’
‘Employed suggests a decent amount of money exchanged hands,’ said Richard. ‘If the parents had a job the children were expected to join in for free.’
‘Barbaric!’ said Bertram. ‘How could anyone countenance such a thing?’
‘That suit you’re wearing, Bertram? Nicer cloth than came out of my mills, but made in the same way I would imagine.’
‘Good Gad,’ said Bertram, looking down at the natty suit he had been so proud about. He held some fabric between two fingers as if pulling it away from his body would somehow absolve him.
‘Anyway, need to dash. Left Lucy back at the hotel and she’ll be missing me by now. New Bride, you know! If you fancy the job, Bertie, just let me know!’ He scraped back his chair loudly. ‘Euphemia,’ he said nodding at me and completely ignoring Mary and Eugenie.
When he had left, Eugenie erupted in soft protests. ‘Goodness, who was that man? So rude. Did I hear he had a title? I have met some of the highest in the land through my husband’s work and never have I been treated such. His manners were...’
‘Execrable,’ I finished for her. This caused her to flush and retreat behind her napkin.
‘Did you know about the children, Euphemia?’ demanded Bertram.
‘Of course I did and so would you if you read the papers properly,’ I snapped. ‘It’s deplorable...’
Mary Hill cut me off. ‘Naturally one does not want to think of children in such a setting nor in such danger, but you must remember that these are not like children you may personally know.’
‘Dear God, little Amy!’ said Bertram and shuddered.
‘They are children from sturdy working-class backgrounds who have been brought up in far less comfortable circumstances. They are used to hardship and have an awareness and maturity lacking in most middle- and upper-class children. It is statistically unlikely that they will ever go on to achieve a higher status in society and must thus be accustomed from an early age to the rigours their life will offer them.’
‘Amy came from such a background before she was adopted,’ said Bertram pointedly.
‘Then she is a very lucky girl,’ said Mary. ‘Do not misunderstand me, I also believe conditions in these mills need to be improved and better safety measures improved. But I believe no good can come from temporarily treating anyone above their station. It only leads to disappointment.’
Suddenly, Eugenie spoke. ‘You offer a complicated and in some aspects contradictory argument, Miss Hill. If we are all equal in the sight of God then should we not all be treated equally? I am far from being a communist. I also believe God has placed each of us in our station to do the best we can. We have our destinies, but while we travel the path we call life, I think it imperative we rate no one human life above another. Any child is worthy of our compassion and care, regardless of birth. Just as any man is worthy of our respect and justice under law.’
Bertram and I blinked in astonishment and exchanged startled glances. Mary, however, appeared somewhat stung. ‘I suggest if Mr Stapleford wants to help these unfortunates he takes the position offered by Sir Richard.’ She stood. ‘This has been a most entertaining half hour. If you will excuse me, I have an appointment.’ And so saying she marched from the room.
‘She seemed rather disturbed by the death of her friend’s father,’ opined Eugenie, ‘so we must excuse her manners.’
Again Bertram and I exchange looks, but we could hardly speak what was on both our minds. Yet another sudden death the timing of which added yet another building block to Richard Stapleford’s growing empire. ‘Bit odd, that,’ said Bertram. ‘Richard being bothered about his workers. Do you think he’s changed?’
‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘Perhaps it would be calming to take a turn about the gardens?’
Bertram looked forlornly at the remaining cakes. ‘I suppose it is not that long until dinner at our hotel,’ he said. ‘If you ladies would remain here I will settle our account.’
Eugenie turned to me. ‘I am afraid this reunion with your friend has not turned out as your hoped.’
I shook my head. ‘I also cannot say that Miss Hill appeared to advantage.’
‘I recognise her type,’ said Eugenie. ‘Although she is the first female of the type I have met. The academic in her ivory tower. I have no doubt of her principles, but she sees the world from too far a distance to understand the manner of living except as a series of theoretical ideals. I suspect she has a first-class brain. It must be quite a hardship for her. What discipline does she read?’
‘Mathematics,’ I said, surprised.
‘Do not look so stunned, my dear,’ continued Eugenie. ‘Clergymen are, at heart, all academics. There is something of the whiff of ancient libraries about the cloth. Even the very best at ministering to the people long for the academic debates they had in their youth. My husband had a very fine mind. Theology was his second form of study. He was a student of science until he discovered he could not explain all of the world without the admittance of faith – which I assure you was not a popular opinion in the physics faculty where he studied. But he completed his degree and progressed to theology and his ordination.’
She smiled. Her eyes had that faraway look of one lost in memories. ‘But he could not leave the sciences alone. I well recall the guests we had who came to stay and who argued long into the night on the nature of the universe and how we, who live within it, should be disposed! Some of the great minds of our generation passed through my small vicarage drawing room.’
‘Goodness, that must have been exciting,’ I said. ‘My father never lost his love of the classics and taught me Latin and Greek, as well as some of the basic principles of mathematics.’
‘Did he wish you could go on and study?’ asked Eugenie.
‘I do not think so,’ I replied thoughtfully. ‘I think his intention was to give me the confidence to approach any idea or situation and assess it for what it was, and believe in my own analysis, rather than simply accepting what I was told. He was a realist and knew my best option would be to marry. I do not have the gift of genius like Mary! But my father wanted me to go about the world with open eyes.’
At this point I had to make use of my rather soiled napkin to pat my brimming eyes. ‘I do not think I have talked so much about him for years!’
‘My son and my daughter are both studying medicine. My daughter, of course, will not be allowed to practice. It is a hard life and not one I would have chosen for either o
f them, but if equally intelligent why should I bar my daughter from studying merely because of her sex? She is so studious and strong-willed it will take a man of distinct character to win her to marriage.’ She gave me a quick smile.
‘Ah, you think she may find such a man at university?’ I said, smiling back.
‘If she did, it might even be possible for her to aid him in his work,’ said Eugenie. ‘I doubt there will ever be female doctors. Gentlemen are, on the whole, far too shy to discuss their complaints with a lady!’
‘Perhaps there might be lady doctors for ladies in the future?’ I hazarded.
‘Only when there are enough people thinking for themselves as you do,’ said Eugenie. Then a darkness passed over her face. ‘I trust your independence has not led you away from Our Father.’
‘Oh dear me, no,’ I said sincerely. ‘If I did not believe in a good and just God, and that our loved ones awaited us in the afterlife, I do not know how I could bear this world. I must trust that judgement will eventually come to those who deserve it.’
Eugenie looked at me shrewdly for a moment and I was certain she knew I was speaking of Sir Richard. ‘We must always trust that God gives us no greater burden than we can bear,’ she said.
‘Until it kills us,’ said Bertram, approaching the table, in a cheery voice. ‘That’s what they say isn’t it? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Only sometimes it does kill you, doesn’t it?’
‘Mr Stapleford, are you an atheist?’
‘What’s one of ’em?’ asked Bertram suspiciously. ‘I used to row for Oxford, but I was never into running around.’
‘Atheism, not athleticism,’ I said trying to repress my laughter.[9]
Bertram looked a little offended, but shrugged. ‘Sorry I was so long, ladies. There was some confusion about the bill. Turns out that Miss Hill had already paid it. Then I ran into Richard again. Strange about that. Thought he’d left. Anyway, I’m having dinner with him tonight, if you will excuse me, ladies, to discuss his offer.’
‘Bertram,’ I cried, horrified. ‘You cannot be seriously considering working for that beast!’
Bertram hung his head for a moment. ‘Sometimes, Euphemia, even the best of us have to dance with the devil.’
Chapter Eight
The Enigma
Neither Eugenie nor I said another word as we left the restaurant. Bertram cast me several appealing glances, but I could not find anything good to say about his intention and continued to keep quiet. We had walked but a few paces from the hotel when Bertram said, ‘Look, ladies. There is the Canadian Pavilion. I have heard they have the most mirac – amazing display inside.’
‘It does say in the guide that there are depictions of life in Canada inside,’ admitted Eugenie. ‘Doubtless that would be a most interesting spectacle.’
‘I would like to see it,’ I said, hoping it would put us all in a better mood.
Bertram smiled. ‘Well, if you’re both set on it. I think I’ll head back to the hotel to get spruced up for tonight. I have no concern about leaving such level headed ladies together.’ And with that he walked smartly away.
‘My goodness,’ said Eugenie.
‘He wants to speak to McLeod, his servant. He is usually Bertram’s factotum and estate factor. Bertram does often rely on his advice. R-Ro-McLeod is a very clever man.’
‘Then hopefully he will talk Mr Stapleford out of working for that horrid person,’ said Eugenie.
‘We can hope,’ I agreed. Thus so in accord with my chaperone I took her arm and we walked towards the Canadian Pavilion, chatting of the things we hoped to see and how astonishing was the very little of the Fair we had seen so far.
It was a very grand edifice, not unlike the frontage of a country house. The entrance had a large portico that extended to either side of the double doors. However, you could not have driven a carriage underneath, for the entrance had a small wall that extended around it and the immediate gardens, so entry was by the main steps alone. A wing on each side of the portico extended for some four long windows, widely spaced and above each was a smaller round window. Both wings ended in a large square tower the length of each wall of the tower being almost equal to the entire length of the wing. The towers had a balustrade atop of them with Grecian urns at the corners and above the main entrance rose a further great tower that flew the Canadian flag at its summit. It was impressive but also most reminiscent of a wedding cake.
‘And to think all that is done without stone,’ said Eugenie. She glanced at my face. ‘I should not have told you. I have spoilt the fantasy!’
‘I would always rather know the truth,’ I said. ‘I shall choose to marvel at how the illusion is constructed rather than be disappointed by it.’
‘Such a sensible girl,’ said Eugenie, patting my arm.
We walked up the steps together. I confess entering the building I felt uncomfortably small and humble. A sensation I could not wholly account for, as I have been inside several of the truly Great Houses of Britain and never been bothered by their high ceilings at all! However each of these I knew to have been built of the strongest stone and, while perhaps not so cunningly fashioned as the Canadian Pavilion, were of a much sturdier state.
We entered the main exhibition hall and immediately I regretted not having Amy with me.[10] There were three rows of giant glass cases. The middle row was devoted to encased models of ships, but on the walls were three-dimensional scenes of Canadian life. One showed an apple harvest in the greatest detail. Eugenie gave a little ‘ooh’ of delight and moved closer. After my exploits on board ship I too was more interested in these dioramas. The whole alien effect was heightened by the lush planting of Canadian foliage that surrounded the cases. The leaves long and verdant reached over their restraining fences. It was difficult to avoid the odd prick or tickle as one moved about.
My attention was drawn by one showing a Canadian town and countryside. The town was much bigger than I had imagined, with wooden buildings of three stories and even some made of stone. There was a railway track, bridges, row upon row of neatly ordered streets stretching off towards a bay, and snow on the ground nearest the observer. It looked both civilised and utterly foreign to my experience. My attention was utterly rapt, so it quite took me by surprise when I heard a woman’s voice say urgently and in a soft but determined tone, something like, ‘Nein. Nein. Es will nicht fahren.’
For a moment I thought the voice had somehow been recorded and was coming from the diorama. Then my brain slid away from Canada and realised the voice was none other than Mary Hill’s. I had never heard her speak German, but I was almost certain it was her.
I was about to move and at least make it known that another person was nearby – the tiny bit of conversation I had heard gave me the impression it was very private. Also, not speaking German myself there was no point in my eavesdropping. Should Mary discover me listening in on her we would be back at square one with our relationship.
However, before I could do so, I heard a man’s voice answer, even softer and with a fluency that convinced me his native language was German. ‘Liebling, ich habe keine wahl.’
Mary’s voice when she responded, quavered as if she was on the verge of tears, ‘Aber...’
The ferns which separated them from my eyesight quivered. What might have happened next I have no idea, for Eugenie suddenly called out, ‘How is your French, Euphemia? What do you think an elevateur a grain might be?’
The ferns stilled abruptly. Then a man in brown suit with a bowler hat shot past me and out of the room. I got no more sight of his face than it was extremely pale and he wore a large, dark moustache. Mary did not appear. I deliberately turned by back on that section of the hall and went towards Eugenie.
‘A crane for ... flour?’ I suggested, looking pointedly up at the diorama.
‘Oh, how clever you are,’ said Eugenie. ‘But why does flour need a crane?’
‘The building is very tall,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I am wrong and it
means a flour store?’
I heard the sound of a woman’s footsteps passing behind me. ‘That might make more sense,’ said Eugenie. ‘After all, their towns seem surprisingly large and the weather quite extreme. It would make sense to store provisions for the winter.’ Then she looked at me and blinked. ‘Do you know, I realise I am uncertain how flour is made? How ridiculous is that? It is one of the staples of any English kitchen and I believe we produce it in quite some abundance, and yet I have no idea how the crop become flour.’
‘I believe a grinding process is used – windmills,’ I said, though my mind was only half on the topic. I rubbed my eyes. ‘Do you know, I think I have looked at quite enough cases to satisfy my curiosity. I find electric lighting, such as they have here, tires my eyes too quickly. Perhaps, if you too have seen enough, we might take the chance of walking though some of the flower beds and displays. I have promised Richenda I will do my best to look out for plants that would suit the Muller estate. Though how I am to fathom their names I have no idea.’
‘Perhaps some of them will be labelled,’ offered Eugenie. ‘Or we might even find a gardener to talk to? There must be people quietly working away to keep everything in order. We should look for a man in overalls! It will be a challenge. I quite agree that electric light is tiring. I think, as I am sure you dear departed Papa did, that the good Lord separated day and night for a reason.’
We walked out of the Pavilion. ‘Eugenie, if I may venture a remark that I assure you intends no offence, you seem to be quite a mixture of tradition and modern beliefs. You dislike modern lighting as much as I, but yet you would see your daughter a doctor, which is by some people’s standards a most outlandish idea – though not by mine,’ I added quickly.
To my relief, Eugenie laughed. ‘My husband used to say I was quite the enigma. I have always enjoyed discussing and debating all sorts of topics. I sometimes think the good Lord by accident gave me a male brain!’ She laughed heartily at this so I would see she was not serious. ‘What I truly think, Euphemia, is that our age is a great challenge to both society and the Church. Modern inventions and thinking are challenging fundamental tenets of the Church. And then of course there is the debate of how closely the Church follows God’s will.’ She sunk her voice for the last part. ‘It is after all run by men and men are not infallible. I would not dare say this to many, but I think you too are prone to question the world about. My deepest fear is that the world will so embrace the new science that there will be no room left for faith. I can see that medicine is trying to prolong the work of the Lord in the manner of giving us better health, but when we turn day into night I fear we are going too far.’
A Death Overseas Page 5
